


Patch-up Job

by orphan_account



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Gen, Yuletide 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek clutched his arm as he ran back to the house, forcing pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patch-up Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erda/gifts).



Fucking metal. Derek clutched his arm as he ran back to the house, forcing pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. He’d been looking into something for Sarah; they’d had a lead on a guy who said he knew where they could find the Turk. He’d been beaten to it, and their lead was dead, his body riddled with bullets. The thing had been leaving when Derek arrived, had turned and fired on him. Acting on instinct, Derek had dived for cover and started shooting back. He’d won, but not before taking a bullet to his shoulder first.

It didn’t hurt too much right now, but he knew from experience that he was still running on adrenaline and that it would wear off soon. He stumbled into the house, slamming the door closed behind him, not stopping to consider what any watching neighbors might think.

John and the machine were still at school, but Sarah was at home in the kitchen. She started a little, and then took in his appearance, pointed to the kitchen table , and ordered, “Get up there and lose the shirt.”

She left the room for a moment and Derek lifted himself onto the table and fought with his field jacket. Pulling it away from the wound caused pain to flare up and he had to grit his teeth to avoid crying out. He fought to lift his shirt over his head as well, the hand of his injured arm clenched tightly into a fist.

Sarah came back in, holding a toolbox he recognized from under her bed, one that contained their first aid kit. “Leave that," she gestured to his arm.  “Let me do it.”  She took hold of the shirt as he relaxed. “This is gonna hurt.”

She ripped it off in one clean movement and Derek couldn’t quite hold in his pain.

They were normally low on painkillers, drugs being hard to get hold of, but Sarah had sent the machine to a pharmacy a couple of weeks ago to get them a supply. The metal had done well, and now they were fully stocked. Sarah shook out a couple of co-codamol and held them up. Initially Derek shook his head, wanting to keep a clear head, it was something drilled into them from the future – you were never safe from an attack so it was best to keep sharp. Sarah wasn’t having any of it though and forcefully pushed the pills into his hand and waited with her arms folded until Derek reluctantly swallowed them, waiting for the drug to take effect.

Sarah probed the wound, inspecting the damage and sending sharp bolts of agony through his arm with each touch. Sarah started talking to distract him. “What happened?”

“Kid was dead, metal got there first. Almost got me, too,” he forced out through gritted teeth.

Sarah’s face tightened at that.  Finding the Turk was important; it was their only lead in preventing Judgement Day. They didn’t have anything else to go on and it felt like they were watching it slip through their fingers. Derek knew better than any of them the terror that they were fighting to prevent. The memories were still burned into his brain, filled his every dream.

He tried to change the subject. “So doc, think I’m going to live?”

“Looks that way. I’ve seen people survive a lot worse.” She probed the wound a little more. “Bullet’s still in there though. Hold on.”

She turned on the gas stove, and fetched a bowl from the cupboard. Derek watched her retrieve a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit, along with a bottle of alcohol which she set down on the counter next to the stove.

“You want something to bite down on?” she asked.

Derek shook his head; he could stay quiet if he had to, though he watched the stove with a little trepidation. It was cleaner this way, lowered the chance of infection, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

Sarah drenched the tweezers in alcohol before setting fire to them from the gas. “Ready? On three.” She came closer. “One, two –”

The tweezers dug in before she ever got to three, finding the bullet that had dug deep into his flesh as quickly as possible. It felt like fire spreading down his arm, and Derek had to bite his lip to keep the pained noises in. All that gave him away were a few harsh grunts. Finally the tweezers were removed and the burning agony gave way to a constant throbbing.

Blackness tinged the edge of his vision and threatened to overwhelm him, but Derek managed to cling to consciousness. There was something about Sarah that made him determined never to show weakness around her, and fainting in her arms would definitely count as a weakness. “You get it?” he asked quietly.

Sarah nodded, retrieving the alcohol bottle to clean up the bullet hole. “Just this and then I’ll bandage it up.”

By that point, his nerves were so sensitised he barely noticed the pain as the alcohol was wiped over the injury. Sarah had had practise at this and worked quickly and methodically to bandage the arm, binding the shoulder tightly with gauze to immobilise it.

She picked up the shirt he’d been wearing. “Think you’ll need a new one,” she commented and dropped it into the bin.

*

Derek cleaned himself up, avoiding the wound, found a clean t-shirt -- his last one, guess he’d need to go shopping soon – and returned to the kitchen to find Sarah preparing a lasagne for dinner. She glanced up as he came in. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She pointed to the table where a glass of water and a small white pill lay. Derek held it up, question on his face.

“To fight any infection.”

Derek sat at the table and swallowed the pill washing it down with the water. The first sip made him realise how thirsty he was and he gulped down the rest of glass, going to the sink to refill it.

They sat in silence for a while; Sarah had never been big on talking. She’d not even told Derek that Kyle was John’s father, but he’d worked it out. John took after Kyle too much for him not to have noticed. Derek preferred things this way, it made life less complicated. Ever since Judgement Day, he’d grown up as a soldier: follow Connor’s orders and don’t question the plans.

Things weren’t much different since he’d been sent back, he mused. Only now it was a different Connor. Derek smiled at that and Sarah picked up on it, one corner of her lips turning upwards. “What?”

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Life.”

Sarah smiled. “That’s a bit deep.”

“Sorry about losing that lead. I should have got there earlier.”

“So that thing could have killed you, too? We’ll find something else. We have to. I promised John.” And that was her guiding light for everything. Sarah hadn’t gone this far to protect the world; she was doing it to save John. She wanted to stop Judgment Day from ever happening to save her son from having to lead the resistance. It was the true extent of a mother’s love. She’d given him everything.

They were interrupted by the door opening. John and the machine walked in. John slung his bag onto the kitchen table and glanced at Derek. “What happened to you?” he asked, noticing the edge of the bandage.

“Had a run-in with a machine. It’s alright though; your mom patched me up.”

“You’re okay?” John stepped forward, looking concerned.

Derek nodded. “It’s all fine.”

 

“If you’re sure.” John sniffed and looked around the kitchen. “Mom? What are you burning for dinner?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here you go - been a while since I've written in this fandom but it was good fun, thanks for the prompt and I hope you like it! Thanks to Karen for the beta.


End file.
